


We left our city at night

by summerstorm



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/M, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-19
Updated: 2012-07-19
Packaged: 2017-11-10 07:48:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerstorm/pseuds/summerstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gratuitous porn set a couple of months after <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/463830">Only what we manage to do lasts</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We left our city at night

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Anne Michaels. To avoid confusion, yes, there's a mention of Cato/Thresh in the first paragraph.

The house is silent and big and empty; she was supposed to sleep over at Cato's tonight, but he said Thresh was coming over and didn't specify what for, and while she's fine being a third wheel and she doesn't hate hearing about her Cato's sex life as much as she pretends to, she has no desire to walk into it.

She's not sure when in the course of writing a paper about the most boring movie in the world she stops thinking about French and starts thinking about sex, but it must be pretty early on because by the time she's finished it--and it's only a page long--there's a steady tingling between her legs and a tense weight on her stomach that she doesn't want to take care of herself.

For once, she calls first. Granted, all she says before hanging up the phone is, "I'm coming over." She gives him five seconds to come up with a reason she shouldn't, but he just acknowledges the warning, which is as close to a yes as she ever gets. Her dad's somewhere in New Hampshire for the night, so she packs a change of clothes and a toothbrush into one of her biggest handbags and takes her car. His money well-spent. She's sure he'd be pleased to know this is what she's using her early graduation present for. 

She parks around the corner from Cinna's building, in front of the bakery, and walks with a determined pace. Her favorite thing about Cinna's apartment is it's four floors up from her old therapist, so she doesn't even have to be sneaky about it. The only person it would raise any flags for is her dad, and nobody gossips with her dad, not even about her. Once she got over being annoyed by that, she decided it was pretty awesome.

As soon as she's inside his apartment, she drops the bag on the floor, leaves her jacket on top of it, and reaches her arms around his neck, pulling him down. He seems a little taken back by it, but not surprised, which is good, which gives Clove the opportunity to wrap a leg around him and bounce on her foot knowing he will pick her up. He does, straight away, even faster than she expected, his hands light under her thighs, pulling her up so he doesn't have to duck his head to kiss her.

She knows she's on the small side, but she's always a little amazed by how gently he's able to manhandle her, like she weighs nothing at all, his arm steady and relaxed under her ass whenever he needs a free hand to open a door or pick something off somewhere or cup her face, her waist, fingers trailing up her side under her t-shirt, around to unclasp her bra so he can palm her breasts, underneath it until he gets a chance to take her clothes off.

She always gets a stupid heady rush out of that, months of wondering if he really wanted her crashing down into moments like this, moments when he's not willing to wait another thirty seconds to touch her.

Her back hits the comforter before she knows they're in his bedroom, and she spreads her arms out, takes a moment to appreciate how goddamn soft and comfortable it is before they mess it up. 

"It's kind of weird how much you like my bedding," Cinna says, too low to be jarring, nearly a whisper, and she breathes a laugh while she fists a hand in his shirt.

"I legitimately believe it deserves me taking an awesome nap on it. Not that this isn't a great way to undo your bed," she says, mirroring his tone and starting to unbutton his black shirt, "but just once I would like to mess it up with sleep. I really just think it deserves it." Her legs are still clasped around him, and she only needs to roll her hips to rub up against him, crossing her ankles behind him to stay there.

He tips his head down to kiss her, teeth dragging lightly against her bottom lip. Her tongue is caught between her lips when he pulls back, and she has to make a concerted effort to close her mouth so she doesn't look ridiculous. He's too close to see her anyway. "I'm sure my comforter appreciates that," he says against her cheek, and bites softly at her jaw. She can feel his breath on her skin, the rasp of stubble he's always really more careful with than he needs to be. She lets her head fall back when he mouths at her neck, saying, "Now, what would Clove appreciate?"

"Keep going," she breathes. He looks up at her quizzically. He's an asshole. In theory she knows he genuinely wants her to be comfortable with everything they do, but he's still an asshole. " _Down_ ," she adds impatiently. Her hips rock up without permission, and she feels him hardening against her, more quickly now.

He makes quick work of her shirt and bra and wraps his lips tight around a nipple, teeth scraping against it, rough enough to hurt just the way she likes, just the way that makes her arch her back and moan. He kisses his way to her other nipple, his hands holding her breasts up now, holding them together. She reaches around him to undo her fly, tries to push her pants down but doesn't get very far, not the way she's clinging to him.

She doesn't let her legs down anyway, and he just snakes down between them until her knees are over his shoulders and she can feel his spine under her heels. Her belly rises and falls under his mouth and she wishes she'd dropped her pants where she dropped her shoes. He's enough of a tease as it is; he doesn't need an extra step between licking down the dip of her hipbone and getting his mouth where she wants it.

"Please don't make a production out of taking off my jeans," she groans.

He looks up. "You _could_ have worn something else."

"How could I have known?"

"You jumped me the second you stepped in the door," he points out, which is fair, she had designs on his virtue, whatever. She waves a hand dismissively, not even bothering to lift her wrist off the bed. He sits up, and she lets her feet follow the movement, fall down around the back of his knees. "Let go," he says, rolling his eyes. "I'll make it quick."

She gives him a skeptical look but does as he says, watching him get off the bed. He undoes the last button on his shirt and hangs it haphazardly over the back of a chair, and then he leans over her, hooks his fingers around the waistband of her jeans, and pulls them down. They wind up inside out, but they're off, and he tosses them towards the chair, which would bother her if she gave a fuck about anything other than getting his head back between her legs right now. Her underwear's riding down too, and she goes to yank it down but gets her wrists trapped in his hands for her trouble.

"Hey," she says, and he just shushes her. " _Hey_ ," she repeats, and this time his answer is a press of his mouth against the crotch of her underwear. "Do you have a panties thing?" she asks, not all that gently, and his fingers tighten on her wrists. He trails his nose along the edge of the cloth, and then she feels dampness, foreign dampness, the heat of his tongue.

It vanishes, frustratingly, though the press of his nose and lips does not. "I've just wanted to do this for a while," he says, "since October, actually," and she gasps. She gasps because he noticed, he noticed and he only said she seemed _tense_ and she was so sure it was one-sided then, at least to the extent he affected her.

"You could have said something," she says. She means it as an accusation, but it comes out mumbled instead, uncertain. He doesn't answer, unless his lips closing around her through _cotton_ \--she has never hated cotton this much--is it. "Not then," she goes on, because, well, it wouldn't have gone over so badly, she would have gone for it if he'd offered, "but after that, at _some_ point," and her voice rises, "like, 'hey, Clove, remember that time I laced up those sandals for you, and how you thought I didn't see the massive wet spot in your underwear?'"

"It wasn't that bad," he says, and lets go of her wrists to hold the elastic of her underwear, edge it over her hipbones.

"I--you were touching my ankle," she whines, "and I was creaming myself over it, I don't know what part of that isn't ridiculously embarrassing to you."

He kisses her hipbone, and starts to slide her underwear down her thighs. "The part where I spent that time trying not to think about how much I wanted it to be because of me," he says, almost wistful. "That part was distracting." She lifts her legs so he can get the underwear off, and when he leans back down it's with hands on the backs of her thighs, urging her legs up, up over his shoulders again.

"Okay," she says, "okay," and rocks her hips up until she feels his chin and then his mouth, his tongue lapping at her eagerly, and she knows she's wet, she knows but now she's really feeling it, seeing it on his lips whenever they emerge. She didn't know an embarrassing realization could make them both so frantic, but it does, him licking and sucking on her clit long before he usually does, her grinding up against his tongue, desperate, grabbing fistfuls of the comforter and moaning in a way that cannot possibly be attractive, nasal and high-pitched.

She doesn't need them, but it's his fingers that send her over the edge, two sliding inside her without any warning while his thumb meets and meets his tongue under her clit, the sudden thorough pressure sending shivers down to her calves and sparks beneath her eyelids. He doesn't stop licking at her through it, just makes it softer, slower, pulls out his fingers and rubs circles on the inside of her thighs while she comes down.

"Jesus," she says, her voice hoarse, and he kisses her hipbone once before stretching out on his side next to her. "You're doing that again later," she tells him, moving only her head to face him.

"Okay," he says easily, and she lifts her chin until he gets the hint and kisses her.


End file.
